


Let It Snow!

by coffeeandcas



Series: Christmas Gifts (Destiel and Hannigram Ficlets) [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Smut, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Murder Husbands, Praise Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: A particularly vicious snowstorm leaves Will stranded at Hannibal's home on the night before Christmas. Hannibal is prepared for the eventuality and they manage to find more than one way to amuse themselves.





	Let It Snow!

Will leans over and throws another log on the fire, watching as sparks scatter themselves over the hearth and the flames crackle and spit. He sits back on his heels and watches it burn, his cheeks growing pink from the heat and his eyes beginning to water, yet he can’t lean back just yet. He’s used to the cold in his own house, only using the fire when it becomes truly unbearable, preferring the body heat of his dogs to keep him from shivering under his blankets. This winter, in particular, is vicious; the snow has been coming down in sheets for the last three days, blanketing everything outside and rendering the roads completely impassable. Jack had called him twice to ask for his help and he’s been unable to keep the relief from his voice when he says he can’t leave the house and get to the BAU without digging his way from one doorway to the next. 

He gazes sightlessly into the flames, enjoying the warmth on his skin, the wood beneath his knees almost hurting him. He shifts, and that’s when Hannibal sits up from behind him and pulls a blanket down from the sofa, wrapping it tenderly around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. 

“Lie down, Will,” he murmurs and Will does, curling back into the older man’s arms, back to the firm chest he adores so much, and continues to watch the flames dance and leap as Hannibal’s hand wanders beneath the blanket to trace patterns on his skin. He’s nude, Hannibal is too, and the sweat from their intense lovemaking session has now dried on their skin and they’re both keeping warm on the fur rug beside the fire in Hannibal’s bedroom. It had been quick, heated, fierce kisses and red trails left on pale skin by desperately clinging hands, Will’s dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat and Hannibal’s cheeks reddened and his dark eyes grown almost black with desire. Their cries had filled the bedroom as, outside, it continued to snow heavily, trapping them inside Hannibal’s home for yet another night. 

“Darling,” Hannibal kisses Will’s bare shoulder where the blanket has slipped away. “We should go downstairs. Prepare dinner. It’s getting late.” 

“Not yet.” Will links his fingers with Hannibal’s and pulls his arm a little tighter around his own waist. 

He doesn’t want to get up. He’s never been so warm and comfortable, even though they’re dozing on the floor. Even though they’re naked. Even though he should feel trapped and unable to return home. But he’s never felt quite like this, so sated and drowsy, on the edge of sleep in Hannibal’s arms. 

“Alright.” Never one to give Will anything but what he wants, Hannibal settles behind him and they don’t speak for a while, both watching the fire. 

“Who was he?” Will asks after a long time and Hannibal makes a noncommittal sound, stroking circles onto his bare stomach, fingers tangling in the trail of dark hair leading from Will’s navel down to between his thighs. 

“Why do you want to know?”

“Did I know him?”

“No. You did not. I ensure you never do.” 

Hannibal kisses the back of his neck through his hair, inhaling, and Will knows he must smell sweaty, fever-sweet from the heat of the fire, but he also knows Hannibal loves him this way. Stripped totally bare, warm and pliant in Hannibal’s arms, defenceless and curling into him. Hannibal is a caretaker at heart, in spite of his proclivities, and he’s happiest when he’s keeping Will safe. 

“Why?” Will asks him. He’s got his arm bent beneath his head, his cheek resting on his bicep, and he’s playing idly with strands of the fur rug, twisting them between his fingers as the shadows play across the floor. “I could… I could help.”

“No, Will.” Hannibal pushes himself up onto an arm and gazes down at Will, taking his chin firmly in hand until their eyes meet. “I don’t want Jack to ever trace anything back to you. You must remain innocent in all this.”

“Hardly innocent,” Will reaches for him, winds a strand of Hannibal’s greying hair around his fingers. “Complicit is the word you’re looking for. Jack would see to it we were jailed together.”

“And I would never allow that to happen.” Hannibal kisses Will’s fingertips. “Dinner?”

“Fine. I could eat.” Will’s stomach growls and they both glance down at it in amusement. “I could  _ really _ eat.” 

Will sits up, the blanket falling down to expose his bare chest and shoulders, and shivers in spite of the fire. He casts about for his clothes, then remembering that although they finished in the bedroom they didn’t start here. Hannibal had braved the snow, dressed in his heavy overcoat and knee-high rubber boots, to see if he could dig his car out enough to take Will back to Wolf Trap to check on his dogs. It turns out that he couldn’t, and when he came back in drenched and shivering, soaked to the skin, Will had made short work of stripping him down to his boxers and dragging him upstairs. Will’s own clothes had been left on the stairs, draped over the bannisters, and in the hallway as they had stumbled, kissing deeply, towards the bedroom where they’d spent a few  _ very _ enjoyable hours in each other’s arms. 

Hannibal takes both his hands and lifts him to his feet, cupping the back of his neck and kissing his mouth, and Will melts into his touch. Outside, a gust of wind splatters more snow against the glass and Will shivers in Hannibal’s arms, the mere idea of the snow enough to chill him. Hannibal produces a black silk robe seemingly from nowhere and wraps it around Will, tying it at the waist and brushing his hair back to kiss his forehead.

“Shower,” he commands. “I will prepare dinner.”

Will does as he’s asked, after watching Hannibal walk nude from the bedroom, the firelight making his skin glow. Hannibal is solid muscle with thick thighs and strong biceps, perfect for carrying bodies from his car to the house or throwing Will on the bed when the mood takes him. Will feels a shiver caress his skin at the thought of what lies below them in Hannibal’s basement. 

He showers quickly, using Hannibal’s spiced fog and elderflower body wash and spends longer than he should inhaling the deliciously familiar scent. Then he dresses in clothes Hannibal had laid out for him earlier, knowing Will would need to shower and change. The thought makes him smile, Hannibal forward-planning enough to think of the little things. Shirt first, expensive and tailored. The sweater is soft, a cashmere-wool blend, and the pants hug his hips and thighs so tightly he knows he’s going to be on display. 

Downstairs, he admires Hannibal’s home as he approaches the kitchen. The house is richly decorated for Christmas with garlands wound around the bannisters, an ornate tree in the hallway and another in the study, wreaths draped across the wall-mounted animal skulls that decorate the opulent living room. Small lights twinkle in the corners of the room and every fireplace crackles merrily. He has no idea how Hannibal keeps on top of everything - unless he has a team of servants hidden away whom Will never sees. Doubtful. 

Will is dismissed from the kitchen no sooner than a glass of wine is in his hand. Hannibal has changed while he was showering into one of his suits and Will smiles at the sight. Dinner attire. Nothing more, nothing less. He takes his seat at the table, admiring the decor - a miniature fir tree in the centre surrounded by baked oranges, white roses and, in the centre of it all, a stag made from vines and twisted twigs, its head thrown back to the sky. Will gazes at it, enraptured, until a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality and the meal in front of him draws his attention wholly.

“Who was he?” Will asks again as Hannibal places an immaculately decorated platter on the table between them. He sips from his wine glass, swirling the liquid first and inhaling just as Hannibal has taught him to do, then tasting. Cherries, oak, and something spicy, eliciting a sigh of delight from his lips. When he looks up again, Hannibal is gazing warmly at him. 

“Your palette is much more refined than when we met. I remember you considered pasta with cheese an adequate dinner.” Hannibal looks briefly pained as he unbuttons his jacket and sits down opposite Will. “I hope I have opened your eyes to the finer pleasures in life.”

“In more ways than one,” Will murmurs, his eyes on the plate again now. “What are we having?”

“Heart, finely sliced, with caramelised onions and glazed carrots. And roasted figs.” Hannibal watches Will’s reaction carefully. “And a caramel soufflé for dessert.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

Hannibal spears his first forkful and chews, eyes heavy-lidded with enjoyment before swallowing. “He was nobody. Your path would never have crossed his. He was unspeakably rude to a waiter in a restaurant I had the displeasure of visiting with a client some weeks ago.” Hannibal’s dark eyes glow almost maroon in the candlelight. “Snapping his fingers and addressing the staff by means of ‘oy’ and ‘you’. It was rather distressing to witness.”

“You killed a man because he snapped his fingers at a server?” Will shakes his head, simultaneously appalled and amused. “Sounds about right.”

“Yes.” The note to Hannibal’s voice is dangerous now and Will knows better than to push him. Instead, he focuses on his plate and picks up his fork.

The taste of the meat explodes over Will’s tongue. Rich and decadent, sweet with whatever marinade Hannibal used, it’s delicious and he knows he should feel at least some level of disgust at himself for enjoying it so. But that disgust is long gone, acceptance taking its place and morphing into something closer to delight. Once, he was disgusted at what Hannibal did, how the older man amused himself and dealt with anyone who delivered him the smallest slight. 

That was a long time ago. 

“How is it?” Hannibal asks, raising his glass to Will and taking a swallow. 

“Great. You know it is.”

“‘Great’,” Hannibal echoes, looking faintly appalled. “High praise, indeed.”

“You know what I mean.” Will takes another bite, savouring the flavour. “It’s…”

“Great.” Hannibal smiles at him and they eat in silence, the only sounds in the room their cutlery on the plates and the snow pelting against the window outside. Dessert is, as always, fantastic, and Will sits back in his chair after he’s finished, pleasantly full and almost finished with his third glass of wine. Hannibal leans over his shoulder to take his plate, kissing him on the cheek as he does so.

“Do you know what day it is?” Hannibal asks him quietly, his break warm on Will’s skin. He turns, offers his mouth up for another kiss.

“Yes.” Their lips meet, slow and careful, Hannibal’s hand cupping the back of his neck. “Christmas Eve.”

“Yes. And the roads are impassable. We will be waking up together on Christmas morning, Will.” Hannibal tugs him to his feet and brushes his hair back off his face, holding it there so he can admire Will with no barriers between them.

“Yes…” Will breathes, feeling scrutinised yet basking in it, cheeks flushed from the shared meal and the warmth of Hannibal’s home. “Was this your design?”

“No.” Hannibal draws him close, buries his nose in Will’s hair and breathes him in. “But I cannot deny I owe a debt to the elements for bringing you to me for Christmas.”

“Stop it,” Will says, although a smile tugs at his lips and he can’t quite quell the rush of joy he feels at Hannibal’s words. He ducks his head, embarrassed, and Hannibal leans in to nip at the shell of his ear and pull him close.

“Allow me to tidy up, my darling, then I will run you a bath. You’ve had rather a long evening.”

“I should clean up. You cooked.” 

Will’s argument is lackluster at best - he knows Hannibal will have him do nothing other than relax this evening, snowed in as they are. And he’s more than happy to acquiesce. He lounges in the living room in front of the fire, admiring the seven-foot tree that stands proudly in the corner of the room, fingers ghosting over ornaments and baubles until he almost drops one and hastily retreats to the couch instead. He wanders to the study, moving papers on Hannibal’s desk curiously until he finds something that makes a blush steal across his cheeks - an image of him, pencil on thick drawing parchment, nude and asleep in their bed - in  _ Hannibal’s _ bed, damn him for getting so attached - with the sheets barely covering his hips. If he squints and tilts the paper, he’s sure he can see the hint of his soft cock against his thigh, sketched lightly in pencil. His mouth runs dry and he stares at the image, barely able to reconcile it with his own picture of himself. The man in the sketch looks at ease, untouched by fear and nightmares and other people’s demons. But when he looks in the mirror, all he sees are tensions and unease. He drops the sketch back down onto the desk, wondering who’s wrong here. Himself and his reflection, or Hannibal and his rose tinted glasses. Either way, if he could choose to be one of the two men, he knows exactly which one he would pick. 

He doesn’t have much longer to marinade on his thoughts; Hannibal calls him from the bathroom and he goes, missing the warmth of the older man’s arms immensely even though they can’t have spent more than a half hour apart.

Upstairs, Will pushes the bathroom door open to see Hannibal in his shirt with the sleeves rolled up, testing the temperature of the bathwater as the air around them fills with richly scented steam. He glances up when Will enters and his face lights up with a soft smile.

“Your bath is ready. May I undress you?”

Will can’t find the words to say yes so he just nods, watching Hannibal wipe his hand dry on the towel and approach him, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. It should bother him, being treated almost as a child, yet he stands still and basks in the attention as Hannibal helps him out of the soft sweater then unbuttons his shirt with a leisurely decadence that makes Will shiver, pushes it off his shoulders and bends to press a kiss to his collarbone. Then his belt is unfastened and his pants pulled down his thighs, underwear too. Hannibal takes his hand as he steps out of his clothing and allows himself to be guided to the bathtub. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’s never quite so happy and content as when Hannibal is caring for him. It’s a pleasure he never dared imagine for himself, that somebody could want him this way, or so much.

Will sinks down into the warm water and allows his eyes to fall closed, every muscle beginning to unwind and his breathing slows and deepens. He could fall asleep here. Especially when Hannibal kneels behind him and begins massaging his shoulders with firm hands slick with the same bath oil that scents the water. 

“God, that’s good. If you ever fancy a career change…” Will tilts his head, encouraging access to his neck and Hannibal works a knot there with determined fingers, easing the tension from Will’s muscles and stroking the skin once he’s done. 

“I shall bear that in mind. Thank you.” 

Hannibal seems comfortable behind him and Will allows himself to drift, on the edge of sleep as the massage continues and Hannibal winds a hand into his hair, stroking sensually and drawing him into a beautiful haze of relaxation. Will basks in the attention, in the way Hannibal’s hands move across his body and caress his skin, in the way his mouth presses hot, sweet kisses to his cheek and jaw. His fingers work a stubborn knot near his spine and a low moan is exhaled as Will shifts, drifting. 

“Masturbate for me, Will,” Hannibal kisses his neck and whispers into his skin. It takes a moment for his words to sink in. “Let me see you.”

“I don’t think I can,” He murmurs lazily, then glances down between his legs as Hannibal’s fingers trail over his shoulder, down over his left pectoral, skimming his nipple, then lower. He’s surprised to see himself half-hard, had been lulled into such a comfortable, drowsy headspace by the massage that he hadn’t even noticed his own arousal. “Fuck. I didn’t even…” He wraps a hand around himself and sighs at the sensation, head lolling against Hannibal’s cheek. “Mmmm. Fuck.”

Hannibal’s hands work firmly over his shoulders again and up to the back of his neck, into his hair, as he begins to stroke himself. His eyes fall closed and his breath comes in low little gasps. His cock thickens in his palm as he strokes, the bath oil in the water slicking his way. His skin tingles all over, goosebumps rising where Hannibal’s lips caress his neck, and where one strong hand drops down to circle his nipple. A gentle nip to his neck makes him sigh, gasp, and he tightens his fist around himself. 

“Beautiful, Will.” Hannibal tells him and the praise makes him shiver all over. 

Between his thighs, arousal begins to build from a gentle glow to something stronger and he bites his lower lip, shifting in the bathtub. His gaze falls to the open window, to the snow that scatters itself into the room, sprinkling all over the sill, and the cool breeze feels like an icy caress over his heated skin. Hannibal continues to caress his shoulders and the back of his neck with one hand, the other cupping his chin and turning his head for a kiss.  

“What about you?” He asks, the words coming out thickly as pleasure pulses low and hot between his legs. He’s fully hard now and his hand feels incredible. He thumbs over his slit, massaging under the sensitive head, following the line of the vein that runs up his shaft. His other hand, previously gripping the side f the tub with white-knuckles fingers,ones down across his stomach, tracing the scar there, the scar Hannibal left for him, then lower and he cups his balls with a low moan. 

“Do not worry about me. This is for you.” A kiss is pressed to his mouth, their tongues meeting and Will sighs into Hannibal’s open mouth. “I want to watch you touch yourself, Will. I want to see you succumb to your pleasure. I want to feel you orgasm in my arms.”

As he speaks, Hannibal adjusts his position and wraps an arm around Will’s shoulders, anchoring him against his chest, and Will groans, turning to him in search of a kiss as his hands continue to move between his thighs. 

He’s never considered himself an exhibitionist before and he isn’t sure this would even fall into that category. But knowing Hannibal is watching him, knowing the older man’s gaze is fixed firmly between his legs as he pleasures himself, it’s creating a new type of heat within him. As is the praise that spills from Hannibal’s lips into his hair, and he arches into the embrace as his pleasure nears a peak. He massages the sensitive tip of his cock again with his thumb, tugging on his balls until it’s almost painful, slipping his hand beneath him until his thumb can circle his own hole, still slackened from the deep, rough fucking Hannibal had given him in the bedroom hours before. He writhes now, arching his hips, pushing into his hand and back onto his thumb. 

“Fuck, Hannibal. God. Is this...” He swallows, tries to speak past his shyness. “Is this okay?”

“Darling, you’re exquisite.” Hannibal’s voice is low, rough, his accent thicker, and Will lets out a sharp little cry as his balls begin to tighten and he feels his orgasm building rapidly, more rapidly than he’d thought himself capable of considering the short refractory period he’d been allowed. “My beautiful boy. My love. Perfect, so perfect for me…”

And the praise spilling from Hannibal’s lips is what does it. Turning his face to hide against Hannibal’s neck, he cries out as he comes, climax hitting him and causing every muscle to tighten up as pleasure cascades through him. He manages to pry his eyes open and glance down at himself, sees his swollen cockhead wrapped in his own fist, his own release spilling over, down his fingers and into the water. His hole tightens around the tip of his thumb and he groans again, imagining how he must feel to Hannibal when he climaxes and the thought sends another wave of ecstasy crashing through him. Hannibal’s embrace tightens, he’s held through the most intense moments of his orgasm as he gasps for breath, before his body goes limp in Hannibal’s arms and he trembles, aftershocks sparking through him. He still cups himself, hand moving lethargically until he’s oversensitive and has to release himself. He pants into Hannibal’s skin, then his mouth is captured and he’s kissed fiercely, deeply, with the possessiveness that Hannibal manages to keep hidden until their most intimate moments. And that was certainly an intimate moment. 

“I love you,” Will breathes, and Hannibal kisses him again, pushing his damp hair back. 

“My darling. You’re perfect.”

Hannibal helps him up out of the cooling water, holding him up as his thighs tremble, then wraps him in a fluffy towel and kisses him over and over until Will is dizzy from it. Then to the bedroom, where Will stands with his arms draped around Hannibal’s shoulders as soft sleep pants are drawn up his thighs and settled around his hips. He sits on the bed as Hannibal changes then, when his legs feel steady enough, he strays towards the window and looks out at the blizzard which has painted their entire world white. 

“Come to bed, darling.” Hannibal appears behind him, shirtless and in warm cashmere pajama pants, and wraps an arm around Will’s waist. “It’s frightful out there.”

“I hope Winston is alright.” Will leans back into the embrace, resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, watching the snow continue to fall. “He’ll be missing me.”

“And Alana says he’s getting along perfectly well with Applesauce.” Hannibal nuzzles Will’s neck, inhaling his scent, stroking his hands over warm skin. “No doubt he misses you. But you’ll be home soon enough.” Taking Will by the hips he turns him in his arms so they can find each other’s mouths. “Too soon.”

“Doctor Lecter.” Will smiles against Hannibal’s lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting attached.”

“You know better than that, Will.” Hannibal guides them both over to the bed and Will curls against his chest, dragging the blankets up to cover them. The fire still burns in the hearth and Hannibal’s arms are beautifully warm around his waist. “I was attached from the moment you walked into my office. Now, I don’t ever wish you to leave.”

“Then you’re lucky I don’t have to. At least for a while.”

They watch the snow outside gather on the windowsill, watch it come down in flurries. The seconds stretch into minutes and the only sound in the room is the crackle and spit of logs as they move beneath the flames. Will wonders if Hannibal got him a gift for Christmas then shakes the thought away immediately - of course he will have. Hannibal loves nothing more than to shower Will in praise, love, affection and treats. His own gift for his lover will have to wait a few days, wrapped neatly on his kitchen table as he left it, unaware he wouldn’t be returning for a day or two. He burrows closer under the blankets and Hannibal holds him tightly, one arm around his waist and the other beneath Will’s head, pillowing his cheek.

“I love you, Hannibal.” Will says into the silence. 

“I know, my darling.” Hannibal kisses the back of his neck, his favourite spot, and strokes Will’s hipbone beneath his pajama pants. “And I you. I always will.”

Outside, somewhere a few blocks away, a church bell begins to chime. It’s midnight, and Will curls warmly into his lover’s arms, content. Hannibal might be a monster to some, but to Will he’s so much more than that. He’s everything. 

“Merry Christmas, Will.” Hannibal says into his skin and Will smiles softly. 

“Merry Christmas, Hannibal.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any Christmas or holiday ideas and would like them turned into fics, send me a DM on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/coffeeandcas) and I'll try and work some winter magic. 
> 
> Happy December!


End file.
